Garfield is extraordinarily relatable

Getting Old

Since the start of this blog I've talked about how I'm not ready to come to terms with the fact that I am indeed getting older. With age comes responsibility and all that other stuff that freaks me out. Like the fact that I now have friends who are getting married. Creepy man. I briefly considered re-celebrating my 21st again last week, but let's face it, you can't go back in time.

The day started out amazing, when I was finally allowed to open the box my mom had mailed to me a few days earlier. With her on the phone, I began unwrapping, only to discover a dress that I had been dying for in the stores (see left image). She had called me a few weeks ago and had me convinced that they were sold out everywhere. I screamed when I saw the dress, so I'm pretty sure she knew I liked it (not to mention the fact that I wore it home that weekend, too). My mom always tries especially hard to make my birthdays wonderful, and I'm looking forward to being home next year for the first time on my birthday in four years.

My friends were set on me not crying on my birthday this year (as I have on every birthday since high school for some reason or another). Maybe the original song lyrics were meant to be it's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. Either way, this year was monumental, because I did have two briefly moody moments, I DID NOT CRY! Whooohooo!

Unfortunately, I had an unmissable class the night of my birthday, so I wasn't able to go out for dinner with my friends. Instead I was under a strict timetable to come home and be changed for McMurph's in under 15 minutes. It was "Return of the Dudes" so we wanted to get there early to get a table. I picked out my outfit beforehand (a pink satin top, my true religion jeans {they're lucky}, and black slingbacks) so I quickly rushed home and did my makeup. Sadly, both the Laurens were unable to come out (too much school work and not feeling well), but I still had a wonderful group with me. Sam and I were the first ones there because Cobb, Kate, and Katy all had art class, and Kathleen wasn't ready leave early with Sam and I. We got there at about 9:30ish, but unfortunately the tables were all taken already. I appreciate the Guitar Dudes wanting to celebrate my bday with me, but I would've appreciated a different night so that I'd have room to breathe.

Sam and I were hanging out, rather than get me a shot she bought a pitcher for the two of us to share. I was a little nervous about the beer before liquor, but what the heck? It was my birthday, I'd probably be sick ANYWAYS. I got very mopey when I discovered that there was a tall skinny Blonde girl who was 21, wearing a cute teeny red dress and a tiara, taking away from my birthday glory. Yeah, I'm honest enough to admit that. I'll share the attention any other night (and I always do) but that was MY night. The other girls arrived just in time to lift my spirits. I made them proud by actually taking shots like a champ (something that I usually am ridiculously and humorously terrible at). The Dudes were back in full force, doing a great job, and they even wished me a happy birthday! I would have preferred the crowd to not be there, but whatevsies. Yeah, I said whatevsies, you got a problem with that? I had plenty of friends there to dance with, and it was a great time. Many drinks were given to me, but still not as many as 21, which is definitely good because I didn't get sick this year! I came home, collapsed into bed, and put on my iPod (it prevents the spins that living on a lofted bed seem to cause). The next day I had to pretend to look fresh faced for my composite picture (which is ALWAYS the day after my birthday, ughhh!)

All in all, it was a great birthday, I just still am in major denial that I'm no longer 21. I still write down 21 a good chunk of the time. Oops!

all smiles for 22 (really?!)

Good for a few laughs

Short story in progress

I want to take English 355 next semester, creative writing. To get in I need to submit 6-10 pages of original fiction to the teacher, soon. Assuming that he's asking for double-spaced papers, I've already got about 4 or 5 pages completed so far, with two short stories. I just wrote this while avoiding studying at club lib. I'm not sure how I feel about the tense or POV, any comments and/or criticisms are welcomed. Please, be harsh, I need to get into this class, and if it takes a massive rewrite of this story (or an entirely new concept all together) then so be it.

Sleep Driving

She’s blasted the music, consumed at least two bottles of water, opened the windows all the way, but her eyelids still have weights attached to them. The car swerves slightly into the left lane, and her body jerks forward a few inches. She reaches for the music dial and turns the volume up louder, attempting to sing along. No matter how hard she tries, it’s a losing battle. Seventeen more miles to the next rest stop. She’s not sure if she can make it that long.

She’s never able to sleep the night before traveling, be it by plane, bus, car, or train. There’s a certain anxiety attached to the idea of travel, what could potentially go wrong plagues her mind and keeps her puttering around the room to avoid letting her mind drift to those ideas. She stays awake until she’s tired enough to pass out as soon as head meets pillow. It’s a terrible system, but she’s afraid of sleeping through her alarm if she takes a sleeping pill.

Instead, she wakes up after what feels like mere moments later, slightly panicked and ready to ship out and leave. A stop at Dunkin Donuts for some sort of hot caffeinated beverage is a must. She has a bad feeling that they slipped her decaf today. Those bastards. Thanks to them there’s no heat coursing through her veins, keeping her body in motion, feeling raw with energy. Instead everything feels heavy, constantly sinking. Sinking into the seat, sinking into herself; her shoulders slumping forward, and her head bobbing back and forth, as if she was vigorously nodding to somebody in approval.

She winces as she slaps her left cheek, and just as quickly and harshly she slaps her right cheek. This alerts her body for all of thirty seconds, but even the sting from her palm seems washed out by the dreariness that is taking over her body. Just ten more miles, at the speed of seventy miles per hour means… she attempts to do the math, but her brain seems to be full of cotton balls at the moment. It’s less than ten minutes, she can at least deduce that much. She attempts to do the algebra in her head. Sixty and seventy both share a common denominator with four-hundred and twenty, which means… which means her brain is too fried to figure out this simple equation at the moment. With a sigh she checks the road for hiding police and speeds up another six miles per hour. The sooner she can pull over, the sooner she’ll be able to close her eyes.

Her heart speeds up as she sees somebody jump into the road out of nowhere. What the hell are they doing crossing the interstate?! As she swerves the car, narrowly missing the station wagon next to her, she blinks and the person is out of sight. No other cars seem to be getting out of the way, and the person was definitely not fast enough to cross the road already. If somebody had hit them there would somewhat of a ruckus going on behind her. It’s not possible that she was seeing things. That would mean she had some serious issues going on. Eight more miles.

The wheel is misaligned, so the car keeps brushing up against the grating on the left side. She supposes it’s doing its job, shaking the car to alert a sleepy driver that they’re falling off of the road. She wonders what would happen if she just surrenders. That’s the sleep talking, keep alert! an angry voice yells in her head. She glances at the stereo, only to see that she’s three songs further into the CD than she last remembers. Part of her is terrified at the possibility that she’s been sleeping for a little while.

As she finally approaches the exit, the car continues to swerve, despite her best efforts. Her head is playing the bobbing game again. One red light is all that holds her back from the McDonald’s parking lot up again. A car beeps behind her, and she realizes that her eyes were closed, and the light has turned green. She drives a few more yards and pulls into the lot. It seems to take an eternity to adjust the seat. One lowered, closes her eyes and can feel her body falling deeper and deeper, the warm arms of sleep engulfing her. One last frantic thought runs through her mind before all of her systems shut down. What if she never made it this far, and the car had careened into the cement guardrail the first time she knew her eyes had been closed longer than necessary?

My Last Formal!

So I never found a date to my formal. The livejournal thing was a riot, but deep down I knew it wouldn't exactly pan out, although I was flattered by my fellow blogger's support. Ex-roomie Mindy thought maybe her friend Adam could go, but he wouldn't know if he was available (due to an unfinished lab) until about an hour before the formal. When I found out he couldn't go I started to cry, which was really lame of me, but more so stupid, because I already had my mascara on. I had to tilt my head backwards and hold q-tips at the corners of my eyes for a few minutes to avoid the onslaught of black ink that would run down my face the second it got wet. I was successful, and the night was somewhat successful as well.

The formal was at the Hotel Northampton, which was beautiful. It's a senior tradition in our house that first the seniors take a limo uptown and then meet up with the rest of the party about an hour later. Of course we went to McMurphy's, because it's not even an option that we go anywhere else. It was really fun walking into an empty (except for four people who looked kind of shocked at first) McMurph's in our formal dresses. Since it's somewhat acceptable to drink after 5 (this was approx. 6pm) I think I will have to go there again early when it's completely empty. It was as if we had rented out the bars for just ourselves (and let the other few people hang out since they were harmless). We had complete control of the music, and only had to fight each other for the bartender's attention. It was a blast. And of course we had a photoshoot. The picture to the left was taken from six different cameras at minutely different angles (all the guys were in a row).

It was sad to leave the limo when we arrived at the formal (driving around in a limo all night could really be a party unto itself), but the Hotel Northampton was gorgeous. The food was amazing (I had prime rib), the dancing was fun, and the drinks were pretty good, just super expensive since I was buying for myself all night. But I'm an independent woman and I can take care of myself dammit! Not to say that I didn't appreciate two of my friends lending out their boyfriends for dances, and my friend Lauren sitting with me on the bus home while her boyfriend sat across the aisle, despite my objections that I was alright (I was a little bummed when I saw everybody all cuddled up on the bus). The only time I really cried was along with all the other seniors during the last song, because we realized this was the last time we would all be doing this together. Because of my amazing friends and the great time I always have with them, my night was a success. And my Little won the "Smiley Award" which made me incredibly proud. Despite a broken nose in a car accident a week earlier, she still showed her beautiful face, and smiled :) She's amazing.

The next night I attended a toga party at my friend Dan's, and saw two of the guys who turned me down for the formal. One of them actually had a job interview, and he had gone out of his way to have Dan tell me to have a great time. The other one asked me how the formal was and told me he felt really bad I didn't (because he didn't like "those kinds of things") but hoped I had a good time. I quietly grinded my teeth, but told him I had a very nice time (which I did, but I would have preferred a date). Speaking of the toga party, it was my first, it was also my first time shotgunning a beer (classy, right?), and being at a party that was broken up by the police (they just waltzed right in as we were all jumping up and down singing "You Shook Me All Night Long"). Once again, another great night, capping and excellent weekend, and leading up to my 22nd birthday (which will have to be addressed in my next blog entry.

Greek Goddesses

Don't Worry... Be Happy

Wow, so I sound like a spoiled brat in my last post. I didn't mean to, I think it's hard to explain something that sounds good on the surface, but is filled with frustration and hurt deep down. I know I'm not a brat because my entire extended family feels this way. I think we all just want things to go back to the way they were. It's impossible to go back in time, though, so I guess it's just important to make the best of what we have now, and (as Kevin stressed in his comment) be happy. I am happy, I've got a pretty good thing going for me with the whole traveling to Europe this summer and all, but everytime I come home from a visit with my grandmother I always feel a flood of angst come over me. Hence the terribly angsty post.

But I have a LOT to say about what I've been up to, unfortunately I haven't eaten a single thing yet and if I don't get some real food this box of cookies in front of me will soon disappear. mmm... cookies... Okay, mind out of the gutter, time to eat. All new Veronica Mars tonight! WHOOHOOOO! Now that's something that makes me very happy!

Tea with the Queen

Am I selling my love for clothing? As an opening sentence, that sounds pretty dirty and terrible, but it's not as bad as you think. This all goes back to the earlier blogging days when we were told to discuss our families, so this part is kind of complex, try to stay with me, okay?

My dad's stepmother was more of a grandmother to me than my actual paternal grandmother. When I was a kid I LOVED spending time with my Nanny and Poppop. My grandfather was one of the greatest people EVER. If you met him, I'm sure you would have agreed in a heartbeat. I used to stay with them for the weekend sometimes, and the trips would end with a visit to Toys 'R Us where I would usually get a Barbie or some other sort of doll that my parents had decided I didn't need. But isn't this what all grandparents do? That's not why I looked forward to spending time with them, though. I would've been just as happy to be with them without the toy store trip as I was with it. In fact, once I was out of the toy store phase in middle/high school I did just spend time with them, no gifts included, and still had a wonderful time. Not to say that there weren't the occasional shopping trips.

At the end of my junior year of high school my Poppop passed away due to cancer, which was pretty heartbreaking for the entire family. After that, visits with my Nanny would include a meal, and sometimes shopping. It was usually for one special item. Within one year she was set up with a rich old man from the city, and suddenly the shopping trips were getting ritzier and ritzier. By my sophomore year of college (that's less than three years for anybody keeping track), my Nanny was married. Her husband's wife had died just months prior to them meeting (or so the family rumors are). She now lives the life of a Manhattan socialite. Going to shows multiple times a week, having a driver, living in one of the ritziest buildings on Park Ave (no guest room), private jet, and of course the homes in Boca (still not invited) and Purchase (the country). It's not very grandchild friendly. Well... his grandchildren she sees much more, and apparently dotes on them so as to buy their love. His kids are not very warm to her, so might as well win over the grandchildren, right?

In the meantime, those of us across the Hudson in my family only see my Nanny for brief visits. These visits include an expensive meal (the entree in my lunch today cost more than my most expensive dinners out with my friends in Amherst for the whole meal) and usually a shopping trip to an expensive store. My personal favorite is Bergdorf's. My friends roll their eyes when I come home from a visit with designer jeans, head to toe new outfits (to be fair I'm never dressed "appropriately" for going out to dinner with her husband, so she needs to re-clothe me), and expensive shoes. Honestly, I would gladly trade in every single amazing thing I've been given for even another HOUR in my old life, but I figure I might as well take advantage of what I'm being given. My brother gets a twenty passed on from me, and a promise to be seen soon. And every now and then a Broadway show.

I'm not a bitter person, I'm more... disappointed. So anyways, that leads me back to the weirdness I feel from today. I came home for the weekend to celebrate the 22nd, and my grandmother insisted I come in for a few hours. I spent a half an hour being shown the real Picasso's, real Chagall (are you sure I know how to spell it?), and various other artists that make me drool to be up close to a real painting. What do you think her husband would say if I asked him to throw a couple hundred thousand my mom's way so she could pay off her house? Hmmm... So then we went for the delicious, but expensive lunch, where I saw many facelifted ladies, and listened to friends of my grandmother's stop and compare when they got home from Boca. Then we went for a walk down 3rd Avenue where my Nanny had the managers at Victoria's Secret bring out a folding chair for her husband to sit on while I quickly picked out some loungewear for my trip to France. We then walked to Scoop, a store I love but cannot afford, where her husband insisted he buy me a pair of white terry shorts. They were gorgeous, and the offer was one of his kindest moments to me, but I felt very off after the purchase. Hours later, I'm starting to feel dirty. I gave affection for Tory Burch. It's not that I don't like him, I just... I don't dislike him... My grandmother was looking for contentment, she already had a great love in her life. I don't feel any anger towards her husband, I just feel like she kind of sold her soul to live this new life. It's just that he doesn't radiate warmth, and that's kind of hard for me to deal with. I guess that's why I feel so weird that the first time he really seemed extremely warm was through buying me these shorts.

Hmmm, this may be the first blog that I edit later on. I can't decide. Until I get back to school, done with classes, and done with hw for the day to log back on again, I'll leave you with a picture of my radiant face this warm spring afternoon :)

Ryne and I preparing our Mother's Day Gift

I need YOUR help

Okay what movie ended with a montage of the characters dancing to the song "Eight Days a Week"? It's been stuck in my head all day now, and I can kind of picture the characters, but the rest is blank, and it's driving me crazy, mostly because I cannot get the song out of my head. Please help me out!

Superbad!

Who's coming to see this with me this summer? Let's list the reasons why there's no way I cannot love this movie:

• Stars Michael Cera, aka George Michael
• co-written by Seth Rogan and produced by Judd Apatow of "40 Year Old Virgin" and of course one of my favorite cancelled TV shows, "Undeclared"
• The fact that the trailer already had me laughing pretty hard, especially with what's sure to be one of my favorite quotable lines this summer: "We can be that mistake!"
  

"We can be that mistake!"

Adventures at the Lib (long "i") Part II

my desk last night
(see the blogger screen on my computer?)

There's a very amusing game I like to play in the library: "where will the chair go?" Everybody wants a cozy armchair rather than the sit-rigidly-in-one-position desk chairs on the second and third floors of the lib (pronounced libe). I, myself, watched the girl across from me out of the corner of my eye for nearly a half an hour until she left her chair. I nearly ran over to her desk to claim the spot before she was fully out the door. Other people are chair hunting too, but everybody else moves the chair to the desk they're already at. Sometimes, no, usually this is across the room. The chairs have wheels, but they're really heavy and don't exactly roll. I get to see people of all shapes and sizes struggling (even big guys, hehe) to get the chair to their desk. The best is watching somebody attempt to push the chair around a corner. Not easy. As I read my book today I saw multiple chairs passing by behind me. I'm pretty sure it's the same 4 or 5 chairs. I think the lib needs more of these popular chairs.

Random spaced out library thought #1: You know your head is in the clouds when you see "entropic failure" on your prescription pills label warnings.

As I was bending down to pick up a stray m&m (I'm NOT a litterbug) I noticed that the table/desks (whatever they are) can be lowered or raised with a little bolt on both legs. Right now I would pay to see somebody attempt that.

8:38pm- (now at the lib for just over six hours) After a lag in chair grabbing around dinnertime (there were even two open chairs!) I just saw the same chair pushed back and forth across the room. As I watched a girl put all of strength into very slowly pushing the chair past me, a small amused smile crossed my face. She apologized for the noise and I responded with a sympathetic look and "those chairs are impossible to move" so she didn't think I was just some bitch laughing at her. Maybe she still thought that. I hope not!

Random library thought #2: I hate not being able to say bless you to strangers across the room when they sneeze. If you say bless you then everybody else looks at you, and they usually look more embarrassed than thankful, it's just a big old mess. Sneezes without bless-you's are one of my biggest pet peeves.

9:13pm- I have left my cushy chair on the third floor for the computer lab on the sixteenth floor. I wanted to stay behind and see who went after my chair, but it's getting late and I've been here for about 7 hours. Random library thought #3: ever notice the library has a variety of interesting (and not in a good way) smells? Although I will say they do provide very nice smelling soap in the bathrooms, which eases my mild anxiety attacks when I have to use their public bathrooms.

So last night I left the library at nearly 2:30 in the morning. Not the smartest thing. I walked home with my cell phone pre-dialed to 911 wishing I had saved the campus escort service's phone number from my last phone. I made it back in one piece, vowing to hit the library early today so that I wouldn't have to leave so late again. How the heck did I manage to spend 9 hours there today?! I guess the library loves me and doesn't want me to leave.... hmmm...

the amazingly flattering lighting at Club Lib

Adventures at the Lib (long "i") Part I

You'd think being at the library would put me into a more productive mood. But I'm not, so I'm not. Huh? Did that even make sense?

I'm going to keep a time-log of my activities, so you can see how sad it is that it's taking me this long to get anything done.

• 12:12am- cannot concentrate for the life of me. Attempted to write a blog entry, but had nothing interesting to talk about. Taking 21 minutes off to watch an episode of The Office.
• 12:34am- I'm in LOVE with Jim Halpert. In love. Tall, goofy looking guys better watch out, because I'll probably be coming after them
• 1:52am there's a facebook group called "Dammit. Meredith Grey Survived" hahaha. Oops, back to work.
• 2:17am- I'm walking home in the dark. I'm terrified. If I do not show up to class then I am probably stolen. :-O
  

in a mood

It's not that I have nothing to say. It's just that I don't know what to say. My weekend was crazy and fun, and the best parts aren't fit to be posted. Now I'm really overtired and my brain is in a bit of a funk, and I'm incredibly cranky. I spilled water all over my desk earlier, doing damage to some pictures sitting on my desk, and just making a mess, I started screaming and then sobbing. My roommate laughed. I'm a wreck. I just need a good night's sleep, and then I can be cheerful and bubbly and a good writer again.

I've decided to follow Passover this year (last year it fell on my birthday and I didn't want to miss eating cake), but apparently my chef has no idea what this holiday is. Here's an exchange we had today after I had left a note asking him to get us matzoh:

"I'm getting crackers for you this afternoon."
"Um... I can't eat crackers, I need matzoh."
"Yeah, same thing. Matzoh crackers."
No. No, no, no. Matzoh is not crackers. Sometimes I forget that the rest of the world doesn't share the same background as I do, after coming from a community where everybody observed Passover, and exchanged yummy recipes using matzoh.
I then looked downstairs at the dinner menu, and discovered that not a single thing on there was Passover-friendly. Even the fish-sticks (which I loathe) are breaded. I mean, COME ON. I'm super-cranky and slightly weepy, and I really would like to throw a fit. Well, at least maybe I'll lose some weight, so that my formal dress will be just a little less snug.

Speaking of formal, which is April 13th, I still don't have a date. The first person I asked took a week to get back to me, and then decided it wasn't "his kind of thing." I wasn't insulted at all. Nope. Since my roommate loves me and has a whole network of people, within minutes a message had gone out to an aquaintance of hers asking if he'd want to come with me. He messaged Courtney back a few days later (huh, somebody who doesn't check facebook every five minutes. INSANE!) and told her he'd like to meet me first. We went out for coffee on Sunday, and ended up talking for over an hour and a half. I was beyond proud of myself, because as one of the most socially awkward people on earth there was not one moment of awkwardness! Unfortunately, the formal was never brought up, and I had to message him later asking if he wanted to go to my formal. And as I mentioned just a moment ago, he does not check facebook. Oops. So if you're a twenty-one year old male, who finds dressing up to be "your kinda thing" and likes riding in limos please let me know. Nope, I'm not awkward at all.